


Sadness is Happiness in a Red Jacket

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c., This Week
Genre: Bittersweet, Drabble, Eye Contact, M/M, Softness, Subtle flirting, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: For all of the people who have enjoyed not only the political discussions on BBC's This Week over the past years, but also the unlikely shippy bromantic antics of Michael Portillo and Alan Johnson <3 They make a sweet couple, don't they? And now it's the very last episode, there's a sad farewell exchange.





	Sadness is Happiness in a Red Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

"I never imagined it would end," Michael stopped in his tracks at the end of the backstage corridor for a moment, and shook his head, "The very last _This Week_." He had his back to Alan, who was following him from about ten feet behind, watching as he stood there sighing, "But all good things, eh?"  
  
"It _was_ good... I think," Johnson replied, eventually catching up with his fellow presenter, "We had a lot to say. Debated a lot of important topics." He grinned at Portillo, "Had a lot of laughs too of course. Still, the only thing anyone'll remember our show for is your suits."  
  
Michael practically guffawed. "Yes... Yes. How does it feel to no longer be working with the best dressed man in television?"  
  
"That's a point. I must get the number of Andrew Neil's tailor," there was a snigger. Alan placed his thumb and forefinger around Michael's vibrant red cuff and rolled the material between his digits. He smiled, shyly, his eyes moving from the jacket sleeve to Michael's face, which looked surprisingly downbeat. "I'll miss him," Alan said - _finally_ \- exhaling. And, with that, he ran a touch gently over Portillo's wrist - though soft, there was enough of a press there to rouse a hitched breath from the other man.  
  
"Yes," Michael swallowed, staring at Alan, knowing full well what he meant, "I dare say I'll miss him too."


End file.
